Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (45 page)

I nodded. “That’s something,” I said. “I’m sure Gina would have appreciated it, though I’m equally positive that Angelo Fiore would say it’s not been a good trade.”

“I understand,” Jackson said.

I was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then I said, “Of course, all this—this ruse—makes Gina’s death all the more tragic. It seems like the only one other than myself who wasn’t in on it was Frankie. And now the charges against him have been dropped. How did that happen?”

“I truly don’t know,” Jackson said. “Not my department. I haven’t been involved with that end for several months. I’m sorry.”

The room was quiet. Jackson looked at Toni, and then at me. “We wanted to stop by and explain, knowing the newspaper articles were coming out today. Do the two of you have any other questions I can answer?”

Neither of us said anything, so he and the other agent stood to leave. “We appreciate your time this morning. Hopefully, I’ve been able to shed some light on things, maybe provide some explanations. I’ll leave you my card. Feel free to contact me anytime.” He handed me his business card, and the two men left.

~~~~

Neither Toni nor I spoke for a minute. We stared outside at the rain.

“That’s incredible,” I said. “Here I thought that she was doing it for the money, and she was really faking it all along, her only intent being to keep her father out of prison. You gotta admit, that’s pretty damn noble.”

Toni was staring outside, lost in thought.

“Toni? Did you hear? I said it was pretty damn noble.”

Suddenly, she was laughing to herself. “Wow,” she said softly, “was I stupid, or what?”

“What?” I asked. “What’s so damn funny?”

“I guess it’s okay, because you were even stupider,” she said, laughing.

“What?” I asked again, more agitated.

“Don’t you see? This guy just said twice as much by what he didn’t say than by what he did!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, Danny. He’s the agent in charge, and he doesn’t know why Frank Rossi wasn’t charged with murder? Like you said—it happened right in front of him. They’re going to make decisions about whether or not to release or charge Frank, and Jackson’s not going to know about it? Come on!”

I looked at her. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, I just figured out why Frankie wasn’t charged with murder. Do you want to know why?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because there was no murder! You’ve been squibbed,” she said.

I looked at her. “Squibbed? What do you mean, squibbed?”

“Squibbed. As in Hollywood. Fake-ola. As in a fake gunshot and a fake gunshot wound. Gina Fiore isn’t dead, Danny. She’s alive and well, and I’ll be goddamned if she’s not still controlling this whole fucking thing, four months after she’s supposed to have been in the grave.”

I was speechless for a second, and then I managed to say, “That’s crazy talk.”

“Really? Think about it. The DEA is smart enough to sneak up and catch eight people without making a sound outside the hangar, and then somehow infiltrate a couple dozen guys into the hangar right under your nose, and then nab the whole meeting without firing a shot, but then they go and screw up and leave someone uncuffed and unsearched inside the hangar while all of them conveniently turn their backs and fiddle around with a goddamned stuck door? They forget who they'd cuffed and who they hadn't? And the person who is left uncuffed just happens to be Frank Rossi—Gina’s confidante. Hell, Danny, Frank didn’t
kill
her.
He was her fucking co-star!
He shot her with a blank, made a flash and a big bang. She triggered a couple of squibs designed to look like gunshot wounds—one in her chest, one in her back. Blood and gore spatters front and back. She grabs her chest, and then she falls over and mumbles a couple of words; then holds her breath for a second, while they hustle everyone out in cuffs. Worked just like that, didn’t it?”

I said nothing. It was just like that.

“Blanks and squibs would have looked and sounded just like what you saw and heard. That, combined with a very small amount of acting experience, could convince anyone that she’d been shot. Did you take her pulse?”

“I couldn’t. I was cuffed.”

“Did you see anyone take her pulse? Did anyone check her at all?”

“No, they didn’t need to. She was obviously fucking dead! They just covered her up with a sheet.”

“Of course, they did. Let me guess: there just happened to be one lying around, right? In a goddamned airplane hangar? She could only hold her breath for so long. Did you see an actual exit wound?”

“No. She was lying on her back.”

“Of course. Think about it, Danny. It’s perfect. She doesn’t know what the cartel’s going to do after she sets up the bust. Eventually, they’d suspect her and come looking. This way, she doesn’t have to worry about retaliation for herself or her family because—”

“Because they think she’s already dead,” I said, slowly catching on.

“And you told me you overheard her talking to her uncle on the phone and saying ‘he'll talk’ and you didn't know who she was talking about? She was talking about you! You were there, not because she wanted to keep you close, like she told you, and like this clown just said, but because she needed someone independent to talk to the public to help bolster the story that she’d been killed. She knows the cartel watches the news. How many television interviews did you do that week—four? Five? You were perfect. Believable as all hell because you were telling the truth—as you knew it. Gina couldn’t have scripted it any better.

“And one other thing,” she continued. “I always wondered why the funeral was so small and private. Angelo Fiore knows half the people in the state of Washington. They’d normally have all been there by the hundreds to pay their respects. Except the Fiores must have known Gina wasn’t dead. That’s why they kept the crowd down.”

“Goddamn,” I said slowly. Could it actually be that way? The more I thought about it, we’d either been duped or there were about eight massive coincidences happening at the same time. “We were played,” I said. “I was played. Gina got to have her cake and eat it, too. She freed her dad, and she walks away.”

“Sort of walks away. She may have to hide for a while, maybe not depending on whether or not the cartel implodes. I don’t hold it against her that she freed her dad, or that she walked away. I’m not too happy that she didn’t seem to care about getting people hurt and using people to make it happen.”

Toni was silent for a few seconds, and then she said, “You know what? You’re going to hear from her—probably today since all this shit seems to just be breaking loose,” Toni said.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because she still has the hots for you, of course. If you’ll let her, she’s not done playing with you, yet. As a matter of fact, knowing her, I’ll bet she left instructions with the two clowns who just left to call her the moment they stepped out of our office.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than my computer chimed, indicating a new e-mail. We looked at each other for a second, and time seemed to freeze. Then we both bolted for my computer.

“No, you don’t,” I said, shouldering her out of the way.

I moved the mouse, and the screensaver disappeared. There, on the monitor, was an e-mail with a postcard from the Grand Hyatt Kauai hotel. The picture showed a beautiful white beach set against an unbelievably blue sea. Palm trees swayed seductively overhead. On the beach was a single brilliant-red towel, but no people. The message said, “You still owe me a sunset. No interruptions this time. G.”

~~~~

We stared at the screen, both with our own thoughts. Finally, Toni said, “I’ll get you reservations this afternoon.” Her voice was different. Before, she had been alive—animated—in her element. Now, it was a different Toni. She was much more subdued.

“Why?” I answered. “I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Fuck you. I’m not going.”

“I’ll kill you myself if you don’t go, damn it,” she said. “There are too many open issues. You need to go get them resolved.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” I said.

“Bullshit, Logan. I know you. I don’t care what you say; I know what you feel. You sure as hell do have some sort of feelings for her. You have to go over there and see what that’s all about. Who knows? She might be the one and only person in the whole wide world for you.”

I looked into Toni’s eyes. “I doubt it,” I said.

She was quiet for a second, then she looked away. “Well, we’ll never know unless you go, will we?” She looked back at me. “Please. Just go.”

~~~~

So I went. I went to Hawaii looking for something—what, I wasn’t exactly sure. I was either going to start something or to end something, I didn’t know which. Someone was waiting for me, but I wasn’t really sure who. Was she the one? I guess that in order to find out, I had to go. So I went.

Epilogue

January 5, 2012
1:30 p.m.

TONI BLAIR SAT
at her desk at Logan Private Investigations, working hard on completing a case report for surveillance on an unfaithful husband. Caught him red-handed with still photos through the bedroom window. Note to philanderers: pull the goddamned blinds!

Toni was not in a good mood. The case report wasn’t due until Wednesday, but today Toni had a special reason to kick the productivity motor into high gear. The harder she worked, the less she thought about Danny, or more particularly, Danny in Hawaii with “the bitch.” She halfway kicked herself for insisting that he go yesterday. She’d even arranged his airline flight last night. But in the end, her head had overruled her heart. Danny needed to sort things out and in order to do that, he had to be face-to-face with Gina.

Personally, Toni felt like strangling the manipulative little bitch. The fact that Gina had done what she’d done for a pretty noble cause—helping her aging father—didn’t even the score for how she’d used Danny. She almost got him killed! Hopefully, Danny was levelheaded enough to recognize this.

Toni had never known someone like Danny before—completely brilliant in certain aspects, barely better than adolescent in others. Clear insight in certain areas, barely able to see to the end of his nose in others. Then again, she thought maybe that was a pretty good description for men in general. No doubt, though, Danny had more good points than bad.

Toni knew that Danny had an internal, unwritten rule about office romance. She believed that Danny’s self-discipline was the only thing that kept him away from her. It was damn sure the only reason she stayed away from him. And who knew, it was probably a good thing. She didn’t need the complications. Just look at how she felt now—and they weren’t even together.

She finished her report and set the file aside just as her e-mail notification chimed.

She looked and caught her breath when she saw who the sender was:
[email protected]
.

She steadied herself, and then opened the e-mail:

Dear Toni:

Got in yesterday afternoon local time. The hotel is beautiful. Thanks for your help in arranging everything.

I found my room, and I found Gina. We had a good, long talk. I had plenty of time on the long flight over to help sort things out in my mind. That, plus the night spent lying on the beach by myself, looking at the stars, is helping me to think clearly. After talking to Gina, here’s what I think:

• I had a crush on a girl named Gina in high school;
• This crush took a long time to run its course—longer than it should have;
• That crush was based on a vision as seen through the eyes of a young kid;
• Through those eyes, Gina was damn near perfect;
• I’m not a young kid anymore. I see more clearly now;
• As an adult, I barely know Gina;
• Now I can see that she’s just like everyone else—she has her good points and her bad;
• I could never be with Gina. She’s far too controlling for me—look at how she used me for her own ends last year without even a second thought;
• Talking to her last night, I learned that she’s already on to her next scheme;
• I’m not interested;
• She doesn’t like to sit around, drink a beer, and listen to music. She doesn’t even like Nirvana.

Bottom line, you were wrong when you said Thomas Wolfe was wrong. I think he was right
—y
ou really can’t go back again. That’s because our perspective of “back” changes as we change. It isn’t the same as it once was. In this case, my past wasn’t bad—it was fun at the time. But my present looks a whole lot more appealing to the man I’ve become.

I’m coming home. I get in at ten fifteen tonight. Do you mind picking me up? I’m eager to see you.

—Danny

Toni reread the e-mail, and then she printed it and read it again. She smiled to herself.

“Kenny!” she yelled out.

“What!” He was in his office across the hall.

“I’m taking the afternoon off,” she announced.

“Good. Why?”

“That’s just none of your damned business. But, if you must know, I’ve got a date tonight.” She smiled at the thought. “I’m going home early to get ready.”

~~~~

Acknowledgments

Angel Dance
required a great deal of research and specialized information, which I was fortunate to obtain through the efforts of the following people.

To my friend Phil Johnson, for setting me straight on high school athletics in Washington State. I am now clear on the differences between “cross-country” and “track.”

To Officer Tony Falso of the Mukilteo Police Department, for his detailed critique of the police procedures used throughout the story. Any remaining procedural errors are mine alone.